morgueville,heartland living.

the wolves came from the pits of my nightmare and stumble upon my sleep. and then they engulfed me.


ahh. puberty, sexual exploration and the coming of age were the talks during lit these days. and had in the companies of wolves as a audiovisual guide. bad b-grade horror film that is surprisingly poetic (duh. it's angela carter who wrote it.) still. anyway, all the good films are out this month and the next. bleargh. i can't watch. realised that when the mere existence of your life is judged upon the last time you caught a film, you know it has become incredibly placid, if not, empty. ahh.


the wolves took him in a few years ago. i'm quite sure he's dead but sometimes, i think he is a selective comatose. maybe that's why i haven't got a revelation yet.